


like a river to the shore

by the_crownless_queen



Series: in every universe (I choose you) [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-05-28 08:05:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15044399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crownless_queen/pseuds/the_crownless_queen
Summary: "Like the majority of Fabian's misadventures — if not all of them — this one can be traced by to alcohol and his brother." - or the one where Fabian drunkenly signs up to get a tattoo.





	like a river to the shore

Like the majority of Fabian's misadventures — if not all of them — this one can be traced by to alcohol and his brother.

Either already spells disaster, but the two combined always lead to nights that Fabian literally cannot remember.

Which is why when the phone rings to remind him of an appointment he took two weeks ago — smack in the middle of his brother's latest "you need to relax, Fabian" idea — he has no idea what's happening.

Ten minutes later, he rests his phone down on the table with a resounding  _crack_  and puts his head in between his hands, groaning loudly.

Well, at least now he knows where those two hundred pounds got to.

He takes almost fifteen minutes to gather his thoughts before he picks up his phone again to call his brother.

Gideon answers on the second ring.

"Hey bro, what's up?"

Not bothering with a greeting, Fabian replies, "Gideon, did you sign me up for some tattoo the last time we went out?"

It's a shame his brother can't see him — Fabian's grin is truly frightening, sharp and unveiling teeth.

"Ah, so they called you." Gideon chuckles awkwardly. "That's nice of them."

"Well, apparently I paid them already," Fabian retorts bitingly. "And they wanted to check if I was still free for our appointment."

"Hey, don't blame me, this was all your idea — we passed in front of it and you said, and I quote, 'this guy's hot, I need an excuse to go in', and then you strode in without even waiting for me."

Fabian blinks. "How hot?" he asks absentmindedly. Unfortunately, he had inherited their father's poor ability to hold his liquor — unlike his twin, who had somehow gotten their mother's — and at most he could recall a vague hint of a grin and the impression of kind eyes.

"I thought the point of this was that you didn't want to go," Gideon says dryly before huffing out a laugh.

"I  _don't_ ," Fabian confirms, "but it's paid for already, and they don't do refunds." He pouts. "I just don't want to lose the money."

His brother's laughter carries over the phone and Fabian rolls his eyes.

"Very funny," he says drolly. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Err, not go?" Gideon replies, still laughing. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"And I told you that wasn't an option. I'm going, and I'm getting that tattoo. And that's final."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say," Gideon retorts, half giggling.

Fabian huffs loudly, and then, because his brother can't seem to be able to stop laughing at him, he hangs up.

.

_Bones and Needles_ isn't exactly a name that inspires a lot of trust in him, and not for the first time since he learned about this stupid endeavor, Fabian wonders what possessed him to get an appointment for a tattoo there.

Still, it's finally time for him to go, and so he squares his shoulders and goes in with a sigh.

The inside of the shop is very different from what Fabian was half-expecting, half-dreading. Where the exterior was dark and dull, the inside is bright an inviting. Official-looking, too. Pictures of past tattoos hang one the walls — some of them are actual work of arts — and for the first time, Fabian can actually see why he decided to come here.

The second reason appears almost thirty seconds later, wiping his hands on a towel he then throws on his chair.

Fabian blinks, mouth dropping open a little before he remembers to close it.

'He's hot,' he had apparently told his brother. Looking at who he hopes is going to be his tattoo artist, Fabian can see that was, if anything, an understatement.

"Hello," Fabian says as he approaches the desk. "I'm -"

"Oh, you're Fabian, right?" the man replies, a jovial smile on his lips. It makes him look even more handsome, and Fabian's knees go weak. "You're here for your appointment, right? I'm Edgar."

"Ah, yes," Fabian admits. "That's me."

Still smiling, Edgar guides him further into the shop, where a large leather seat awaits.

"So, last time you were here you said you wanted something for your arm, but, err…" For the first time, Edgar's smile falters and turns into an awkward kind of wince.

Fabian winces too when he realizes why Edgar looks at him that way. "I was pretty trashed, huh?" he says self-deprecatingly.

Edgar nods apologetically. "That's why we refused to tattoo you then," he explains. "I tried to tell you that you didn't have to get tattooed at all, but you insisted pretty strongly, so you took an appointment instead, and now here we are." He shrugs.

"Here we are," Fabian echoes softly. He sits down.

"So, have you thought about design?" At Fabian's confused look, he adds, "You know, what you want your tattoo to be?"

Fabian flounders. "Should I have?"

Edgar chuckles. "Well, last time you were here you were pretty insistent on — actually, I think it's better if I don't say it." He corrects himself absently and Fabian feels like banging his head against the wall.

What kind of tattoo had he tried to get?

Surprisingly, for once, just thinking about the event is enough for it to emerge from the recesses of his mind. The memory is blurry, but still clear enough that Fabian clearly recalls begging Fabian to "put his number on him so I can call you".

Blushing furiously, he turns away. Luckily, his eyes are drawn again to the art on the walls. It's a little more abstract here than what he saw earlier, but Fabian likes it all the more for it.

One, in particular, stands out to him. It's a picture of a bird — a phoenix. A few splashes of red and oranges have it rise out of its flames, incandescent, and Fabian's heart skips a beat. This is what he wants. He can feel it.

"This one," he says, voice barely higher than a fervent whisper. He clears his throat and tries again, pointing at the picture. "Can you do this one, please?"

Edgar looks at the picture and his eyes widen in surprise, though Fabian can see that he's also pleased. It makes his heart flutter.

"You're sure that's what you want? Think about it — this isn't really something you can take back."

Looking straight into Edgar's eyes, Fabian realizes he's never been surer of anything.

"Alright then, let's get to it."

"Take it away," Fabian jokes.

It makes Edgar snort with laughter, and Fabian settles to watch him work as he gets ready.

.

After the fifth time Fabian's arm starts to violently shake when Edgar approaches it with the needle, Edgar steps away with a loud sigh, worrying his lower lips between his lips.

"This isn't working," he says, frowning.

"It's not," Fabian admits reluctantly. He rolls his shoulder and draws his right arm back to his side. "I'm sorry, it's just…" He shivers, not sure how to explain the visceral fear that invades his mind when he sees the needle near his skin.

"It's fine," Edgar replies. "You're hardly the first to have a hard time with this, you know." His lips quirk up into a smile and Fabian relaxes a little.

He likes listening to Edgar's voice. Earlier, he'd kept a running commentary while he prepared his ink and it had helped, but now it's no longer enough.

Edgar's eyes fall to Fabian's trembling arm at the same time as Fabian's do.

"I could always hold your hand." The tone is joking, but Fabian's heart leaps in his chest, and yes — yes, this would help.

"Would you?" he asks, mouth dry.

Edgar frowns. "It's not very proper," he says. "And I wouldn't be able to do your tattoo at the same time."

"Can't someone else do it?" Fabian asks pleadingly.

Edgar looks torn, but he nods. "I can ask. Wait here."

He stands up fluidly and comes back five minutes later with a woman Fabian doesn't recognize.

"Fabian, this is Dorcas — Dorcas, Fabian. She's agreed to work on you while I…" he trails off, blushing, and Dorcas chuckles at him.

"While you hold his hand, you can say it." She turns to Fabian with a wide grin. "I think it's adorable," she tells him. "You're lucky — Edgar would never hold  _my_  hand."

"That's because you're a menace," Edgar retorts, taking his place back at Fabian's side. His hand slips into Fabian's like it's meant to be there, and Fabian squeezes it tightly.

Dorcas lets out a low whistle as she sees the design Fabian picked, and Edgar's head snaps up toward her worriedly. "You're going to be okay with this? We can switch if you think it'd be too hard for you…"

Dorcas lets out a derisive scoff. "Please, you know I can do this — you wouldn't have asked me to otherwise. Stop worrying. Besides," she adds, lips pulling into a teasing smirk, "I don't think Fabian here would let you try." She nods toward their joined hands, and Edgar blushes and looks away.

When he's not looking, she winks at Fabian and flashes him a thumbs-up.

It's gone by the time Edgar turns back around, but that, plus the grounding feeling of his hand in Fabian's, makes it easier to relax.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't still stressed and anxious — still scared of that needle, of the pain and of the knowledge that he's going to ink something into his skin permanently — but with Edgar's hand in his, it's not as daunting.

He has a feeling that nothing would scare him for long, if he just kept holding onto Edgar's hand.


End file.
